Cold Heart

by Sean-Paul Thomas

  The Old Man and The Princess

  The Old Man and the Princess - Amazon US

  The Old Man and the Princess - Amazon UK

  'EVERYONE SHOULD READ THIS BOOK.' Chesca, Goodreads blogger

  A Raven Award Finalist. A Nashville Film Festival Screenplay Finalist. And recently optioned to become a major motion picture.

  'Is the old man really who he says he is? And is he telling Sersha the truth about where she is truly from?'

  A mysterious old man kidnaps Sersha, a young, headstrong, Irish girl, from the streets of Galway and tries to convince her that her life's destiny is tied to a seemingly random cave in the Scottish Highlands.

  But with half of the Irish criminal underworld violently on their trail, the kidnapped Sersha, struggles back and forth with the old man's real identity and far-fetched intentions to whether he truly is genuine in his wild and fantastical beliefs. Or is he just some kind of mad, demented, old fool, having a mental breakdown in his twilight years?

  What readers are saying about this witty and thrilling, action-packed mystery

  'I can easily call this a classic of psychological thrillers or a very-well-grounded SF adventure/mystery. Pick and choose. You'll still have your surprise at the end and I'm not gonna spoil it.'

  'I honestly have not much to say about this exquisite treasure, because I suck at reviewing works that astound me, but it’s the best Sean-Paul Thomas book I’ve ever read yet.'

  'Reading this was like solving a riddle. Some parts were misleading but brought me surprises I didn’t expect.'

  'The ending was just perfect. I was not able to put it down when all the truth started spilling. It was genuinely thought-provoking and heart-breaking. I think I was crying in the wee hours of the morning, or maybe it was just my eyes sweating.'

  'I highly recommend this. It is absolutely one of my best reads this year. If you’re looking for a thriller with a touch of science fiction, then hurry up and read it'

  'It's unique, entertaining and quite a thrilling read.'

  'As a book reviewer, I have read many novels. The Old Man and the Princess will always be one of my favorites. I can gift it to friends, assured that they will love it. This novel is a keeper and deserves multiple reads. I don’t think I will ever part with the novel. In fact, I would ask one and all to read it.'

  'I loved Old Man and the Princess by Sean-Paul Thomas. However much I try as a book reviewer, I can’t remain objective towards the novel. That’s because I loved it. I loved it so much that even after months of reading it, I think about it every day. I have already read it more than once and I am looking forward to a re-read.'

  'This novel is for the keeps and for re-reads. To sum it up, Old Man and the Princess by Sean-Paul Thomas absolutely deserves a five star.'

  'Oh my goodness where do I even start with this book? This was such fun and heartbreaking story to read. I found myself dying to know what was going to happen to the old man and then crying in the waiting room at the doctor's office waiting for my husband. So beautifully written.'

  'I really believe everyone should read this book. I absolutely adored this book. I honestly didn't know what to expect going in. It started kind of dark and up in the air and turned in to a beautiful story.'

  'Once you get the cadence of the speech, you can’t put it down, wondering if this is sci-fi or reality with a twist. I’m not telling which it is, you’ll have to read the book.'

  'Sean Paul Thomas is a talented writer. His clever plot exposes the reader to many different "truths," which means we are unable to put the book down until we learn which truth is actually true. Nothing about this novel was cliched or predictable, including the ending which had a definite O. Henry aura about it. Without question, Thomas has his own unique voice and style. Five stars, I really enjoyed this book.'

  'The story has a metaphor in there and you'll find out what it all means by the end of the book. On a side note, I laughed my a** off at some of the Irish-style banter, I mean I really laughed harder than I have in a long time. Tears were streaming down my face, you can ask those who were in the room with me at the time I was reading. And of course, I had to read the dialogue out loud to them too, I just had to share it'

  Chapter 1

  The old man awoke from his slumber with a frightful, bear-like, yawn. He opened his eyes as wide as the wrinkles on his brow would allow. In one tiresome, fleeting moment, as his waking thoughts intruded his brain reminding him of some of the mediocre tasks he was supposed to perform around his cottage that day, he swiftly forgot all about the recent dreams of the father and son, the beach and the cave and the whirlwind mass of forgotten memories that had swirled around inside his head throughout the night.

  Another, more urgent matter swept every other lingering thought aside, forcing its way to the forefront of his brain and nervous system - a natural human urge of nature's call - He badly needed a piss.

  The old man had already clambered out of bed twice in the middle of the night to empty his bladder. He hadn't even drunk anything since at least an hour before bedtime. Just a wee whiskey dram to send him swiftly on his way into noddy land. So, where the bleedin’ hell all that extra water had come from, was a complete mystery to him. The inner body workings and functions of an old age pensioner.

  The old man hauled himself out of bed with such a great effort that his bones cracked and his limbs creaked and groaned as he struggled up and onto his feet. Every new day felt like a greater and more daunting challenge than the last and that was only getting out of bed in the morning... or was it the afternoon? The old man couldn't tell anymore. He'd lost his mobile phone weeks ago and therefore his concept of time. Or had it been stolen? Had he even owned one, to begin with? He struggled to remember even that in those first few waking moments.

  Wiping sleep from his lids, the old man staggered into the bathroom wearing only a pair of raggedy old grey boxer shorts. It took a while to come, but the flow of urine finally trickled out of him like water from a stiff broken tap, down into the dated green toilet bowl for well over a minute of uninterrupted relief.

  When he'd finally finished, he quickly flushed, even though he knew better to save water out there in the sticks. But strange things were already beginning to grow down there at the bottom of that toilet bowl. Unnatural looking things at that too.

  When all was said and done though, the old man didn't give a holy damn shite anymore. Life had been too long and too unkind to him over the past decade. It was the simple little pleasures in life that kept him going these days. That extra dram of whiskey he knew he shouldn't have late at night, or that one last cigar before bedtime, the two extra chocolate biscuits with his morning cup of coffee which he always looked forward to dipping into the hot black liquid and munching more than anything else in the world. Then there was that first and relieving, long morning piss of the new day.

  Ahhh, grand times, the old man thought. Grand times indeed.

  The old man stood over the bathroom sink and opened the little cabinet above the green porcelain basin. There were some pills stashed away inside on the second shelf. A lot of bleedin’ pills to be precise. With a weary sigh, he took one of the bottles and popped it open. Lifting the lid to his lips he tried his best to swallow one of the hard, pebble-sized pills inside.

  ***

  The old man sat upon an old leather chair out on the back porch of his coastal log cabin. Fully dressed, he wore the same old black flea market suit he'd worn almost every day for as long as he could remember. He sat in a glum yet pleasurable silence, smoking his newly lit cigar while taking short, slow sips from his freshly made cup of black coffee, topped off with a little dash of sambuca to sweeten the load since he’d ran out of sugar weeks ago.

  Aye, the simple little pleasures indeed, the old man thought as he gazed out at the grey Atlantic Ocean from the comfort of his rundown porch somewhere on the Galway coast.

  The old man got a little shock when he glanced to his left, before feeling pleasantly
surprised to see an old-looking, shaggy grey-haired dog lying down in the far corner of the porch. Had the dog always been there? And if not, where did it come from and who did it bleedin’ well belong too? The old man asked himself. It did seem oddly familiar though, the old man continued to ponder.

  At first, he couldn't be sure if the scruffy rascal beast was still alive or not, it looked so bleedin’ still and lifeless. And in truth, if the dog had been able to form its own rational human thoughts then it too would have formed the exact same opinion of the old man.

  The old man quickly forgot about the little dog though and turned his attention back towards the sea. The soothing sound of the grey waves smashing against the muddy shores’ way down below, calmed his soul to its core. He imagined the sea to be a dear old friend. Two aged souls who'd known each other so long that no words were ever needed to be exchanged between them. They could just be in each other’s company and know exactly how the other was feeling - so comfortable, calm and content in the other's presence.

  As the morning turned into afternoon and the afternoon morphed into early evening, the turning tide of the sea moved a little further away from the old man’s meditative gaze. He’d lost all track of time and even found it hard to remember how long he'd been sitting there for in the first place. It wasn’t for the first time these past few years that he’d lost all track of time like that. Oddly though, he was growing more accustomed to these recent new lapses, so it didn’t shock him as much as it used too when it first started to interfere with his daily life.

  And then the old man’s thoughts drifted to them.

  He knew they would be coming for him soon. He knew it and felt it in his bones like he felt the oncoming assault of the late-evening cool, salty sea air. They would find him eventually. Sooner rather than later. No doubt about that. So perhaps it was time to put his plan into action after all. But then again, maybe he would just wait for one more day. Just dwell on one more day of peace and quiet and calm and serenity before the final thunderous storm came a rumbling down upon him.

  What was one more day to a peaceful old man?

  He pondered on that thought for some time as he took another long, soothing puff from his newly lit cigar. Suddenly, an unfamiliar creaking noise sounded faintly out from a section of the porch behind him. The old man cursed himself for being so damn lazy and careless in his final hours.

  All this time they'd never been able to find him out there in the sticks. He could have put his plan into action at any point during these past few weeks. But he'd always been so happy to give it one more day, just one more bleedin’ damn day. And in time, he'd grown slack and comfortable with his simple little pleasures. But at the same time, the old man almost breathed out a sigh of welcomed relief.

  They were finally here. They had found him, after all, that time. He could soon rest in peace for all eternity. In just a few moments it would all be over. As long as he didn't react and just let everything fall into place without a fuss. Like a game of chess between two skilful players and a checkmate only two easy moves away.

  Aye, the old man thought. No more pain, physical or emotional. No more hiding. No more looking over his shoulder and guessing if that day, that hour, that moment would be his last.

  Aye, that was what he looked forward to most of all in death. No more looking around and waiting for the end to creep upon him.

  Without flinching or even attempting to glance behind, the old man spoke, but not until he'd taken one last, final sip from his lukewarm coffee.

  'So, you finally found me then did ya, lad?' said the old man, as calm, cool and composed as you like, in his deep and brooding Irish way. He didn't expect a reply and he certainly didn’t get one either from the young killer behind him. But he wanted the intruder to know, all the same, that he knew he was there. That he had a choice to react if he so wished.

  A young, skinny and fierce-looking man in his mid-twenties, dressed all in black and possessing a crater face that wouldn't look out of place on the rocky canyons and crevices of the cold, hard, lunar surface quietly took another step towards the back of the old man's chair.

  Again, he made another creak on the floorboards. A creak that echoed out into the serenity silence around them. It was perhaps one cautious step too far as the old shaggy dog lying so still in the far corner of the porch immediately opened its eyes. He, too, had been disturbed from his slumber by the subtle, careless footsteps of the young intruder.

  Without words, the younger man raised a gun to the back of the old man's head while the old man went slowly for his half-smoked cigar. Would the young intruder who'd been sent all this way through space and time to end the old man's life, allow him one more, simple last pleasurable puff? Probably not, the old man grumbled in his thoughts. But it wouldn't stop him from bleedin’ well trying all the same.

  The old dog, fully awake, raised its raggedy head at the new stranger invading its territory - this new threat in its home, on its porch and threatening his master.

  The old man had fully submitted to his imminent fate and felt ready. Ready for the end. Ready to go and meet his maker, even if it turned out to be the one way down below in the pit of hades. Everything else, especially regarding her, had been carefully set into motion no matter what they did to him here on this day.

  The younger man gently pulled back the trigger of his gun. Hearing the gentle click and with his cigar barely inches away from his lips, the old man closed his eyes and thought of nothing else but her.

  To his side, the old dog raised its head a little higher, startled further by the gentle clicking of the gun. The old dog assessed the situation. He recognized the clicking sound instantly and knew, from past experiences in his master's company, that the excruciating sound to follow after the soft click from a weapon like that would not be a very pleasant one. No, it would not be good at all for the one being pointed at rather than the pointer. And in his life long experience, his master had always been the one doing the pointing.

  In a split second, the old dog suddenly roared to life. The old beast jumped up onto its old paws with a snarling angry roar and immediately began barking wildly, like some raging demon protector of his master that had just taken over his entire canine body.

  It had been years since the old dog had barked so loudly, vibrant and fearless. It spooked both men immensely, young and old. One of whom had completely forgotten the old dog was even there, while the other hadn't even noticed its existence in the first place.

  The old dog, sensing in a heartbeat that something wasn't quite right with the younger man's presence, went for him in a heartbeat. The younger man, panicking, turned swiftly around to face the beast and anxiously shot the old dog dead with one single blast, right through its chest, barely two strides into its fearsome attack.

  The old man's eyes lit up. Full of anger, rage, suffering and most importantly of all, life - life like he'd never known in decades. And all because of a stupid, but brave little dog. 'Take me, ya bleedin' bastard,’ thought the old man, ‘take me, but not the bleedin' dog. Not me bleedin' dog.'

  The old man whipped around in a crack and hurled the cup of coffee right at the young man's gun hand. The cup smashed violently against his thumb and wrist, breaking bone instantly.

  Throbbing with intense pain, the young man dropped his gun to the floor as the old man sprang to his feet like some crazed heavyweight wrestler with a new lease of life in the final round. He dived, straight for the young man's waist and wrestled the startled younger man to the floor with surprising ease. Then, with an uncontrollable and hideous, violent rage, he beat him, brutal and hard with his rock-like fists, pounding him over and over again until the young man fell into an unconscious, bloodied, pulpy heap, right upon the hard-wooden floor beneath him.

  For a long time, the old man just lay on top of the younger man. It took him almost an eternity to gather his breath and regain his lost composure. And when all the old man could hear was the sound of the distant, crashing sea waves ov
er yonder, he finally turned and glanced over at the old, dead, shaggy little dog and was immediately filled with an overwhelming, gut-wrenching sorrow.

  In a wave of forgotten memories that resurfaced from some deep and dark hidden place within, the old man suddenly remembered everything about the little dog. Everything came flooding back to him in a tidal wave of emotion and feeling.

  The day he'd bought the little rascal as a young pup. All those long walks along the beach and through the city parks and streets back in Dublin. All those soft strokes and loving pets upon his scraggily, fury back. The rubbing of the little fella’s ears. All those fetching of sticks, mainly by the old man, when the dog had quickly grown tired and bored of all that chasing and running around. And then there was all that bleedin’ dog shite he'd had to pick up over the years too from underneath the little bastard...

  And in another flash, the old man suddenly remembered that the little dog’s name had been Tars and it swiftly brought a tear to his eye.

  ***

  The old man stood over a fresh, small grave in the back garden of his clifftop cottage. A grave he'd just dug for his little dog Tars. He murmured a quick prayer before turning back to his cottage again. It was time to collect his things and leave.

  Once he’d packed everything that he needed, which wasn’t very much at all, the old man left the cottage. This time for good. He held a large rucksack in his hands while he carried the unconscious young man awkwardly over his shoulders. The young man was tied and bound at the ankles and wrists and gagged at the mouth. The old man threw him into the boot of his car, violently hard. Stuffing him inside the small space with no concern or consideration for his comfort or well-being in the slightest.

  He closed the rear boot firmly shut, then made his way around to the front side of his car. He climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. He was about to drive away when he decided to just sit in silence for a few moments more. Sit there and listen to the continuous hum of the engine for a few minutes longer while he mulled over the details of his next plan of action.